to give and to receive
by anonnynonny
Summary: Drabbles: The diadem. The cup. The sword. The locket. Four items, each with a story that began long before Tom Riddle.
1. the diadem

The gravity of her situation did not set in until she began to show. _Soon you will not be able to hide your shame_, her mother had spat. _Soon everyone will know you for the whore you are._

And her mother had been right. As she walked through the streets of the village, her belly swollen under her gown, even peasants who might've once averted their eyes in fear or respect gawked as she passed. Some stares silently screamed slut!, others were full of pity. She wasn't sure which she hated more.

And surely, an unmarried woman with child was to be pitied. Noble or not, she knew she faced a difficult road ahead. She thought back to her thirteenth year, the year she had become a woman. Her father had given her a beautiful, delicate tiara. It was shining and jeweled and wonderful. _A diadem for my beautiful daughter_, her father whispered as he placed it on her head. But her mother swept into the room and stole the moment away. _No one will ever marry her if she doesn't pull her nose out of those books,_ her mother had said. _Trinkets won't change that._

But her mother was wrong. A man had wanted to marry her. Tom, he was called, a handsome, kind shopkeeper in the village, but he was common and she was noble and it could never be, even if she carried his child. Her father had spared Tom his life, but she knew she would never see him again.

She held her head high, stubborn and proud, diadem shining bright in the sun. It gave her confidence, it reminded her of the love of her father, and it was her armor against all manner of attacks. _I am Lady Rowena_, each jewel said, _and I will not be shamed._

As she approached the castle, her hand moved to cover her growing belly. It would give the peasants more to gossip about, but now and for the rest of her days, her only concern would be for the tiny life growing within her. She would not be cruel like her own mother. Her daughter (she was sure it was a girl from the moment she knew herself to be pregnant) would grow up loved, cherished, and educated.


	2. the cup

"Open it!" Godric was bouncing on the balls of his feet, the grin on his face broadcasting his excitement.

Helga stared down at the box he had given her. It was wrapped in velvet ribbon and big enough to hold one of the smaller pumpkins in her garden. She wondered what he might give her that would possible need such large packaging.

_Only one way to find out…_ She carefully untied the ribbons, setting them aside. Perhaps they would prove useful in late night birthday celebrations. Knowing Godric, he'd thought the same thing while wrapping the gift. She smiled to herself at the thought as she carefully opened the box.

Inside, cradled in a bed of black satin, lay a gold cup. It was engraved with a badger, the mascot the students in her house had come to adopt as their sigil, and was accented with jewels. As she picked the cup up by the two delicate handles on the side, firelight from the hearth in her room caught the golden goblet and gave her face a warm glow.

"Since you only love me for my wine," he sighed, arms crossed across his chest but still managing to tease her with his eyes, "I thought you'd like your own personal cup. May it ever be full."

"Oh, Godric. Surely you must know I love you for more than your wine… I'm particularly fond of what you have to offer in bed as well."

They laughed together and she rose to embrace her friend (or was he a lover now? she didn't know what they were), brushing a kiss across his jaw. "Thank you, Godric. I will cherish it."

"I'm glad you like it. And I promise you, we all have plans for more celebrations after dinner. Me especially." The glint in his eye and knowing smile told her she was right about the ribbons.


	3. the sword

"You are only a boy, Gryffindor. Not worthy of any Goblin-made sword, let alone one made by my skilled hands."

Goshank the Goblin sneered at young Godric, barely 16 but already dreaming of something more than farm life.

"An oath is an oath, Goshank. I have the money, you made a promise. You owe me a sword."

"An oath! You tricked me! I was not in my right mind when promised you a sword. I cannot do it."

"And I did not force whisky down your gullet. You'll truly go back on your promise? Risk your reputation and your honor?" Godric may not have forced the whisky down the goblin's throat, but he'd kept his cup full for hours.

Th goblin was fuming, he knew he was caught. The boy was right, a promise was a promise. He didn't have to be happy about it.

"I shall make you a sword, as promised. You shall pay me, as promised. And on your death, you shall return the Goblin steel to the Goblins."

Godric stared at the creature trying to keep his face from betraying any emotion. He had saved every coin he'd had or found for years to get this sword, and he certainly wouldn't be forced to give it back on his death. But if letting the Goblin believe it would be returned got him his sword, so be it. Goshank would likely be dead by then, too.

Godric set his money on the store counter, hoping the Goblin would not press the issue. "Make the sword."

The goblin snatched the money wordlessly and turned away, headed to the back of the store. "It shall be ready before the next moon. Now leave."

He left as asked, satisfied. He'd needed a sword, not the friendship of a goblin.


	4. the locket

Salazar sat at the long stone table in his classroom, every inch of its surface covered in potions and cauldrons and books. He had set out to master alchemy, and he would be damned if a few simple spells bested him.

He read over the ingredients and incantations for the potion once more, squinting at the tiny letters and faded ink. _Sand from the southern isles, brown toadstools, a pinch of myrrh._ He'd followed the directions precisely, yet his efforts had yet to wield any gold.

He shoved back from the table and paced in front of the hearth. Perhaps he should have started with something simpler, a ring or a chain, but he'd seen the locket at a small shop in Hogsmeade and had not been able to get it out of his head since.

He returned to the table and began the process again in a fresh cauldron. He added the ingredients, waved his wand, whispered the incantations over the bubbling froth of the cauldron, and finally, _finally_, its contents began to take on an orange hue. He closed his eyes and focused on the memory of the golden locket and its emerald design, hoping to somehow influence the magic at work.

Suddenly, there was bright green flash and and a high-pitched whistle like the scream of a tea kettle. And then it was over. Salazar opened his eyes and walked hesitantly over to the cauldron.

Inside lay an almost perfect replica of the locket he'd first seen in Hogsmeade. Instead of the scatter shot emerald design of the original, this locket had a small emerald S on its face.

He picked up the locket and ran the chain through his fingers, still warm with magic. In truth, he had little use for a locket, but he pulled it over his head and wore it proudly, tangible proof of his new-found power.


End file.
